


Just the beginning

by starstrucktooru



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 20:02:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13554567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrucktooru/pseuds/starstrucktooru
Summary: Oikawa comes to practice his serves yet again and realizes some things





	Just the beginning

He takes the ball from the basket, the squeak of his shoes echoing in the air as he walks over to the first court line. He grips the ball in his hands, giving it an experimental twirl, his eyelids fluttering gently as he closes them.

  
Inhale, hold it, exhale. He tunes everything unimportant out and concentrates. He feels the taut leather in his palm and he's sure there will be imprints left on his skin judging by his white-knuckled grip on the ball. He's aware of his feet grounding him to the gym floor and he feels an itch urging him to move, run, fly.

  
His shoulders tense and he inhales deeply one last time, feels his chest tighten painfully as air fills his lungs, and sets the ball into the air with a well-practiced flick of his wrist. At once, he feels the energy surging through him, rushing through his veins like ambrosia, prickling at his fingertips, and he leaps into the air, eyes wide and sharp until he finds it - pinpoints the spot he wants the ball at, and swings.

  
A loud BANG reverberates throughout the gym, and as soon as it started, it's over. He's back on the ground, ears ringing and breath hitching from exertion, palm stinging from the impact.  
Fuck, he makes a choked sound and clenches his his fists at his sides as he watches the ball thump away until it halts.

  
_Not enough_ , he thinks. _Not enough force, not enough precision, not enough of me_

  
He still has to give away some of the force when he wants the ball to hit his wanted mark, and it would be alright if the ball actually hit it. Sure, it's only by a couple of centimeters, but _still_. He should know better, he _knows_ better, yet the ball can’t follow where his gaze and arm demand.

  
He'll never be good enough for college, let alone pro league if he continues at this pace. So he does the only thing he knows.

  
He wipes his face with his shirt, feeling the dampened material on his back. He crosses the way to the basket sharply and takes another ball. It's okay, he's only been here for an hour, and the day's just started. He swings again and lets his swing carry out all his frustrations.

  
He thinks back on his conversation with Ushijima. Yes, he regrets many things, like eating so much milk bread once he actually had to throw up, or getting lost on the school trip in middle school even though they were warned to stay in groups, or that one stupid fight with Hajime that he can't even remember the reason of, but Seijoh?

  
Never. He's never thought of it as something to regret, and never will. How could he, after all they've been through? After all the hard work and laughs and tears shared on the sticky gym floor when everyone was too exhausted to move, after giving it all at the practice. How could he regret it when he spent years investing in the team, his team, after seeing with his own two eyes what a magnificent, unified force they’ve become, after everything they’ve struggled to achieve, be it small or grand.

  
He thinks _no, this is not the end of my volleyball career. You haven't seen the last of me_ and smirks when he feels the familiar tingling sensation prickling at his fingertips again. It flows through his hands, arms and courses throughout his chest like wildfire, his heart beating rapidly.

  
And then he thinks of Kageyama, the oh so genius, beloved Kageyama. And he can't stop the pang of jealousy? Hurt? that wrecks his heart. He can't, but that's okay. And yes, Kageyama is a genius, and no, he, Oikawa, is not, but damn him and his worthless pride if he lets it stop him from becoming the best.

  
He'd already hit the rock bottom, scraping at anything and everything to pick up his broken pieces, what's one more time to the countless past ones, what’s one more bump to the countless ones he stumbled and fell across on his road? This is not his end, he will pick himself up and soar high, higher than every height he reached before.

And then he thinks of Hajime, of the constant push and pull, of the constant support and trust between them and reality checks when he's too far gone in the dark corners of his own mind.  
He think of Hajime who never left his side, of chapped lips pressing soft smiles and feathery kisses against his mouth and murmuring comforts and encouragements, grounding him after floating away too high, of strong hands squeezing his in support, and gentle laughs for his ears only.

  
He thinks of _you're the partner I can boast about,_ about promises made when they were little and used to sneak out to look at stars, of promises made under the sheets, limbs tangled and bodies pliant in the warm sun, and promises that have yet to be made.

  
He glances at the figure standing by the entrance of the gym, arms crossed casually in front of his chest-

  
"Mom wants to know if you're coming over. She wants to stuff us with food until we can't move. Or breathe."

  
\- and he laughs, tension seeping from his shoulders, and he feels like he's got a massive boulder off his chest, finally setting him free. He smiles warmly at Hajime and thinks _oh this is just the beginning. My story is yet to unfold._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are always appreciated! You can find me at minyardxva.tumblr.com :) <3


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